


The Art of Taking A Hint

by firenzia



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a little bit of a bastard, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a lovesick idiot, Established Relationship, Flustered Crowley (Good Omens), Humor, Impatient Sex, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Married Couple, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Smug Aziraphale, Smut, Spontaneous sex, Teasing, These two share exactly one brain cell, Top Crowley (Good Omens), mostly clothed sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:00:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21526366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firenzia/pseuds/firenzia
Summary: It's about six weeks after their wedding, and the evening before Crowley and Aziraphale's big move to their cottage in the South Downs.Aziraphale is just trying to have a nice conversation over dinner, but Crowley is somewhat...distracted.[Includes an illustration]
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 54
Kudos: 716
Collections: Top Crowley Library, ineffably horny





	The Art of Taking A Hint

**Author's Note:**

> {This is a PWP one-shot companion to my main series, [Love, and Other Ineffable Things](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1405606)}

* * *

“So, are you excited for tomorrow?” Aziraphale asked.

It took a moment or two for the words to make sense. Crowley had been sitting there, chin propped on his fist, dreamily absorbed in watching him eat his ice cream. 

It wasn’t the eating in itself, really, but the ridiculous _way_ he was eating it that held his attention. He had never met anyone, angel or otherwise, who enjoyed things quite as much, and so visibly, as Aziraphale did. And there was nothing in the world Crowley loved more than watching his angel happy and enjoying himself. That applied to everything from books to music to food, of course, but nothing moreso than dessert. The ridiculous creature always ate every single bite as if it was the most incredible thing he had ever experienced, slowly savouring each mouthful, practically radiating contentment in a palpable cloud. It was bloody fascinating. 

And, in this particular case, the way he was licking that spoon was also extremely reminiscent of…other fascinating activities. 

He gave himself a mental shake and cleared his throat, straightening. “Ah, excited for what?” he replied. 

They were the only people in their little corner of the hotel restaurant. Dinner had been excellent, as had the drinks, but then dinner was always excellent at the places Aziraphale chose. They were tucked into a tiny, elegantly paneled booth against the far wall, comfortably out of the way and about as private as one could get in a public place. Quiet music drifted through the air, lulling. 

His dark glasses lay on the fine white tablecloth next to his dessert plate; in the soft candlelight there was little risk of anyone getting a good look at his eyes. 

Aziraphale tilted his blond head, spoon still in his mouth. “Moving day, obviously.” 

“Oh!” He tried not to stare as the angel happily took another bite. “Right, right. Yeah. Of course. Yeah, very excited.” He shut his mouth before he could continue babbling like an idiot. Luckily, his husband didn’t seem to notice. 

He looked especially good tonight, for some reason. Had he changed something about his hair, maybe? A new tie? Was his shirt perhaps a deeper shade of blue? Probably not. Regardless, he looked especially good. The pale blonde hair was turned golden from the lamplight, and he had that air of quiet contentment about him that always made him seem to glow. Just beautiful. 

“It’s quite the occasion, isn’t it,” Aziraphale was saying grandly, gesturing with his spoon. “Our last night living in London. You finally got me to run off with you.” He smiled sweetly at him, blue eyes scrunching almost shut. Damn, but he was cute. It had been such a good day, and an even better dinner, and now all he wanted to do was spend some time alone with him. They had movie tickets for after this, but once that was done... 

Aziraphale was still sitting there, waiting for a response, and Crowley dragged his attention back to the subject at hand. He felt slightly guilty for being so distracted when he was just trying to make conversation. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, yeah I did. Finally. It was about time.” He smiled back, and Aziraphale reached out to briefly stroke his cheek.What little focus he had managed to grasp faded at the touch of those fingers, as the thumb brushed gently over his lips. Suddenly all he could do was gaze into the pale blue eyes and think about how soft his skin was. Surely no one else had such impossibly soft, smooth skin. Crowley swallowed hard, and took a sip from his wine glass to wet his suddenly dry mouth. What had they been talking about? _Right, moving. Moving tomorrow. For shit’s sake._ “Tomorrow’s going to be very, ah, busy.” 

“Mmm hmm.” The angel leaned forward now and helped himself to a bite of his barely-touched red velvet cake. Crowley didn’t object. To be honest, he had only ordered it in the first place because Aziraphale couldn’t decide between that and the ice cream. 

“It’s a cause for celebration, really,” Aziraphale continued. “The start of something new.” He stole another bite of cake, closing his eyes and sighing as he chewed. “Mmmm.” He sat very straight and proper in his chair, chin raised, his other hand in his lap and a blissful expression on his face. He swallowed and opened his eyes, and those little creases at the corners deepened as he smiled. 

“Yeah, so it is.” It was completely unfair that someone so oblivious could be so adorable. 

“Yes. We should do something special, don’t you think?” Pale eyebrows raised at him inquiringly. He took another bite, very slowly, pressing his lips carefully around the fork and maintaining eye contact. 

“Uhh...” Shit. He picked up his own fork and crammed an enormous bite of cake into his mouth, just to give himself a second. The (several) large brandies they had consumed with dinner were not helping him concentrate, at all. The booze was seeping through him in a warm cloud, gradually rising from his stomach to his head and fuddling his thoughts. Other things were also rising and fuddling them even further. He chewed quickly and swallowed down the mouthful, choking a little on the excess sweetness. “Sure, right. Do you? Want to, I mean? Do something special tomorrow night?” He cringed inwardly and reached for his glass of water. 

“That would be fun.” 

“Well, I supposed we could...always...” He trailed off with the water glass halfway to his mouth as Aziraphale took another leisurely bite of his ice cream, slowly licking the spoon clean with his eyes closed, making sure to get every last drop. He pulled the spoon out of his mouth, swallowed the last of it, and let out a soft but audible sigh. 

“Uh...we could...” Crowley’s mind was entirely blank, and he couldn’t remember what they _could_. The growing pressure in his jeans was consuming all of his mental faculties, and he could practically feel the gears straining to turn. The beginnings of a sweat broke out on his forehead. _He_ wanted to be the one to put that look on Aziraphale’s face. Right now. He wanted to touch him. His imagination enthusiastically agreed, and started providing him with a vivid technicolor reel of possibilities. He struggled to wrest his thoughts away from it, without much success. “Uh...” He looked down at his plate and desperately stabbed the cake with his fork a few times. It failed to yield any burst of inspiration.

“Really? That sounds nice.” 

He blinked and looked up. Aziraphale was sitting there primly, watching him, spoon still poised in his hand. His face was utterly open and guileless. There was a faint pink flush high in the rounded cheeks. 

A suspicion stumped its way into Crowley’s mind, shoving aside the alcoholic fog. 

“Are you,” he said slowly, “....doing that on purpose?” 

“Doing what, my dear?” Aziraphale took another very deliberate bite of ice cream, holding his gaze. His voice was mild and perfectly sincere. His expression was as smooth as blank paper. 

The suspicion flailed around a bit, then settled into certainty. "You... _are_ ,” Crowley said in disbelief. The- the utter bastard! How long had he been doing this? His memory flashed unbidden through all the times he had seen him eat recently, and suddenly a very fascinating ice lolly episode made a lot more sense. Heat flooded his cheeks, and he stared indignantly. And to think that he had felt _guilty_! He leaned in and scowled at him, sputtering. “How did- when did you-” 

The overly-earnest look was melting away now as a corner of the angel’s mouth finally curved upwards. A positively wicked smile spread across his face, like paint across canvas. “Well, you've never exactly been _subtle_ , my dear.” His eyes sparkled as he took another very, very slow bite of ice cream. This time he delicately wiped a trace of melted white off his lips with one manicured fingertip, then placed it in his mouth. 

_Holy fuck._ “Stop that!” Crowley glanced furtively around, but there was no one within earshot. He lowered his voice and fixed him with his most piercing glare. He would _not_ smile. He would not. “Quit it.” 

Aziraphale tilted his head to the side, looking like he was trying very hard not to laugh. “Or what?” 

He raised an eyebrow back at him. “Or I’ll have to do something about it.” His stupid, idiotic body was already demanding that he do something about it. His jeans felt unbearably tight now, like he was being strangled via his crotch. He shifted awkwardly in his cushioned seat, but it didn’t make the slightest difference. Damn it all to Heaven, this had _never_ been a problem in all the years before! Their newly discovered sexuality had revealed the one glaring flaw in his clothing choices, but he refused to change them out of sheer stubbornness. He had dressed like this for decades, it suited his style, and besides it wasn’t _his_ fault that Aziraphale was so damn attractive. _He_ shouldn't have to change a thing, not for such a ridiculous reason. 

The angel shrugged and took another unhurried bite, a smile still hovering on his lips. “Well, I’ve been _trying_ to send you hints for the last hour, darling, so that would be an improvement.” His cheeks were very, very pink now. 

“No, no no. Nuh uh.” He realized he was still clutching his fork, so he leaned forward and pointed it at him threateningly. “ _You_ don’t get to give _me_ grief about not taking a hint. Not after six thousand years of my hinting at a block of stone, you don’t.” 

Aziraphale just grinned. “Of course I do, love.” He reached out and gently wiped a bit of frosting from the corner of Crowley’s mouth, then met his eyes and slowly licked his thumb clean. 

Crowley stared helplessly, and propped an arm on the table to steady himself. He felt an unpleasant _squish_ , and looked down in dismay to see that he had placed his elbow directly into his cake. “Gah! That’s it. That’s it, we’re leaving.” He leapt up from his seat, then immediately realized what a poor choice that was as he was forced to stand awkwardly hunched, wincing. _Damn it damn it damn it…_

“We were already about to leave.” Aziraphale calmly offered him a white linen napkin, and he snatched it and swiped uselessly at his shirt sleeve. Sticky red crumbs had ground deep into the thin fabric; it would take a miracle to get this out. 

“Yeah, well, now we’re _really_ leaving,” he muttered. Even he could hear how stupid that sounded, but there was simply no salvaging the situation at this point. 

Aziraphale stood with graceful dignity and came around to stand next to him, putting a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “Poor love. Such a shame that we still have the movie to go to, isn’t it?” 

Crowley paused in dismay with the napkin mid-swipe. Shit. He’d completely forgotten about the movie. He’d been planning to take him straight home and wipe that smug expression right off his face. Preferably with his tongue. From the faint smirk on Aziraphale’s lips he knew exactly what he’d been thinking, too. 

Aziraphale miracled up a neat stack of notes and placed them on the table next to the bill, then offered him his arm. Crowley scowled but grudgingly took it, and together they made their way out of the restaurant towards the hotel lobby. They had a ways to go - the restaurant was at the very back, and the Bentley was all the way up at the front valet service. Marvelous. 

He had to step gingerly, as his jeans were still doing their best to throttle him. 

Aziraphale shot him a sidelong glance. “Having trouble walking, love?” he murmured, _sotto voce._

“Shut up.” He tried to maintain his scowl, but felt his mouth tugging up in spite of himself. “This is your fault.” 

“Yes.” Aziraphale just smiled serenely, the bastard. 

As he minced his slow way along, feeling ridiculous, Crowleyreflected that he probably was at least partly to blame. Their Arrangement had given Aziraphale far too much practice in temptation over the years. All those times where he had encouraged him to be just a bit more devilish and have a bit more fun with it... well, apparently he had succeeded. Well done, there. Why, oh why, did his successes always seem to backfire? A normal angel surely wouldn’t be this good at tempting. Damn it, an angel really _shouldn’t_ be good at tempting at all. He glanced sideways to find Aziraphale eyeing him, lips quirked in amused satisfaction. 

He suppressed a grin and concentrated on walking. Who the hell wanted a normal angel, anyway? He couldn’t deny that he was impressed and even a little proud. Even if it _was_ going to make the rest of the evening an odyssey of self-control. His imagination was still running overtime, getting more and more creative by the minute, and he felt increasingly desperate to be alone with him. 

His very abnormal angel caught his eye again and beamed innocently, as if he wasn’t doing his absolute best to torment him. He leaned in to kiss his cheek. “I love you, darling.” 

Happiness flared bright in his chest, entirely out of proportion and inflaming the desire already racing through him. He stumbled as his feet forgot how to move properly, and Aziraphale’s arm tightened around his own, bracing him. Crowley righted himself, cheeks burning, and thanked Satan that this part of the hotel seemed to be deserted. This would be too humiliating to bear with an audience. 

“Careful,” Aziraphale murmured in his ear. “We wouldn’t want you to trip.” 

Oh, the absolute bastard. The absolute, impossibly _sexy_ bastard. The last dregs of his patience went up in a dramatic puff of smoke, and Crowley stopped walking, jerking him to a halt. “Ok, you know what?” They were in a hallway of some kind, and hadn’t quite yet reached the lobby. He glanced about, and spotted a set of elegant double doors to their immediate right marked “Members Only.” He stomped over, hauling the angel by the wrist, and magicked open the lock. He flicked on the lights and peered inside to find a richly carpeted lounge area with several easy chairs and a bar. It was quite empty. 

“What on earth are you do- _eep!_ ” Aziraphale’s question ended in a yelp of surprise as he was yanked sideways into the room. 

Crowley shut the door, grabbed him by the waistcoat lapels and shoved him up against the nearest wall with a thump, making the paintings rattle. Wide blue eyes stared back at him, a bare inch away from his own. “ _Mine_ ,” he growled into that startled face, and finally, finally kissed him. He pinned one wrist above his head and devoured Aziraphale’s lips with all the urgent hunger that had been building all evening, and the angel tasted of sugar and brandy. He tasted like home and freedom and everything he had ever wanted. He tasted so good that it sent chills down his arms and weakened his knees, leaving him dizzy. Crowley gripped his other hand and moved it down between them, to press against the bulge in his jeans. “Look what you’ve done to me,” he whispered, and kissed him again, fiercely. The hand squeezed, and his blood turned to pure liquid flame. 

Abruptly, the thought of sharing him further tonight seemed intolerable. 

“If I had my way,” he said softly, eyes closed, “I would say forget the movie. I would keep you right here against this wall, and just keep kissing you.” He was already missing his lips, just from that brief interlude, so he pulled Aziraphale’s mouth back to his with a soft groan. He ran his hand through the blond hair and cupped his cheek; he traced the perfect line of his jaw with his fingers and stroked the silky skin on the side of his neck. “And then I would have you right _here_ ,” he murmured hotly, between kisses, “and make love to you until you can’t breathe. I would take you, then take you some more until you come so hard that you can’t _move_.” He was breathless, panting by the end of this speech. He opened his eyes to find Aziraphale looking up at him, lips parted, expression dazed. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, and swallowed hard. His mouth worked silently for a few seconds, and he took a deep breath. “Well, when- when you put it that way...” He seized the front of Crowley’s shirt with both hands. “What are you waiting for?” And pulled him back into a kiss. 

Fire seared through Crowley’s veins, obliterating reason, and he made a frantic sound against his mouth. He spared one hand to snap his fingers, sealing the door so that no one could interrupt, then hastily unzipped Aziraphale’s trousers and pushed them down to his thighs, groping him as much as possible in the process. He spun him round and held him against his chest with one arm while yanking at his own belt with the other. In his haste the damn thing refused to give, so he simply miracled it out of existence with a frustrated exclamation. He hadn’t liked that belt much anyway. 

He tightened his grip, and together they fell to their knees. 

“ _Now_ , love,” Aziraphale urged breathlessly. He reached back and slid his arm around his neck, turning his head to kiss him. “Hurry.” Crowley scrambled to obey, fumbling his own fly open, freeing his erection from its confinement with a gasp of relief, pushing his jeans and underwear down just barely enough. He was impossibly hard, and panting like a man parched in the desert. He needed to slake that thirst, he needed to be inside him, he needed to take him and give himself all at once, and he needed all of it so badly that he was about to burst into actual flames _._ Surely Aziraphale could feel it, surely he could feel him burning. He was a being of paper and kindling, and the angel had ignited him. 

He groped blindly under the collared shirt and pulled him hard against his front, grinding into him. His husband’s chest and stomach were soft beneath his hands, like silk, and his skin pressed warm and inviting against his groin _._ “ _Now,_ darling, hurry,” Aziraphale panted, and reached back to grab his thigh. “Take me _now.”_ Crowley groaned desperately as he bent him over onto his hands and knees, and quickly used his palm and a bit of magic to lubricate himself. He mounted his angel right there on the floor, crying out as he pushed that aching hardness into the soft heat of him. “Oh, _fuck,_ angel. _Ahhgh_.” He hugged tight around his waist and thrust once, hard, forehead pressed to the center of his back, and they both moaned helplessly as he bore down. The scent of his cologne, oh, the perfect velvet _heat_ of him – he was trembling with delight and naked desire, barely able to restrain himself. He thrust his hips forward again, driving as deep as he could, gasping in exhilaration. “Is this what you wanted? Hmm?” 

“Yes, oh God, yes! _Oh_...” Aziraphale was just as undone, practically sobbing, chest heaving in ragged breaths, palms and elbows flat on the floor. “More, darling, harder. ” He reached out and braced against the wall with one hand as Crowley thrust again, shoving him forward. “Please _,_ _faster_.” 

Crowley’s heartbeat thundered in his ears, and every inch of his skin tingled. When Aziraphale got like this it woke something wild and fierce in himself as well, fueled by joy and longing and a dozen other human things he couldn’t name. He felt almost painfully alive. He propped one hand on the floor for leverage, wrapped his other arm around his husband’s waist, and unleashed himself. He thrust over and over again, groaning with every push, nearly savage with yearning and pent-up lust. “ _Ah_ , oh _fuck_ , that’s so good, angel…you feel so good…” He bit the back of his neck, and thrust harder. He took him with unbridled passion, knees digging into the plush carpet as he basked in the glorious thrill of Aziraphale’s pleasure. It blended with his own until there was no difference, until every cry he wrung from him might as well have been his own. 

It was an excellent thing that he had also miracled the room to be soundproof, or between the two of them they would have had people breaking down the door, thinking someone was being murdered. 

He suddenly realized he was about to come, which was unacceptable. He had some promises to keep.He bit down on his tongue and forced himself to slow his pace, reigning himself in. He concentrated instead on pushing at just the right angle, hitting that perfect spot, and the pitch of Aziraphale’s moans changed, grew deeper. Oh, how he loved to hear him moan; there was no more exciting sound in all the world. “Mm. That’s right, just like that.” He bit at his shoulder, the back of his neck, and let his lips linger. “I’ll get you there, I promise. I won’t leave you wanting.” 

He took his time now, touching him in all the ways he knew he liked, sliding under his clothes to stroke all of his sweet spots, slowly coaxing that wonderful body into a higher and higher frenzy. Aziraphale’s gorgeous erection was right there, flushed, rock hard and bumping his arm, but Crowley didn’t touch it yet, despite how much he wanted to. Instead he worshipped him with his hands, caressing every soft inch that he could reach and glorying in every new gasp of pleasure. He touched him absolutely everywhere except his beautiful, rigid sex, all the while nudging him closer and closer to the edge with the motion of his hips. 

When he judged him ready, Crowley pulled Aziraphale upright onto his knees. He held him firmly against his chest, hand cupping his throat, and finally reached down to take ahold of his erection. “I’ve got you,” he whispered in his ear. “Would you like to come for me now?” He slicked his hand again and stroked down with each forward thrust, pushing them harder together. “Hmm? Does that feel good?” He nipped gently at his neck and licked the feather-soft skin. Aziraphale made a strangled noise in reply that was nothing close to an actual word, and Crowley had to bite down on his own tongue again. He chuckled breathlessly and kissed his shoulder through the dress shirt. “That’s it, angel. Just like that.” He wished he could turn him around to see better, to watch his face contort in ecstasy, but the thought of pulling out even for a moment was unbearable. 

Aziraphale’s moans grew more and more frantic, and his arm was strangling tight around his neck. Crowley gently stroked his throat, feeling his pulse thud under his fingers, and kept whispering in his ear.“That’s right, like that. Come for me. You’ve got me all worked up, just like you wanted, so I’m going to take you just like this until you can’t stand it. No matter how long it takes.” 

Aziraphale shuddered and held him tighter. “ _Oh_ , love, I’m so close- so close…” He whined and squirmed in his arms. “Don’t stop, I’m going to- _yes_ -” He groaned and arched back hard against him, and Crowley felt a rush of wet heat as he began to come in his hand. “ _Ah_ …!” He writhed and would have fallen, but Crowley was ready with a secure grip around his waist and shoulders, keeping him pressed safe against his chest. He would be twice-damned before he let any harm come to him. 

He kept thrusting through the orgasm, moaning, feeling that glorious body clench and shake, and this time he knew no amount of tongue-biting would stop what was about to happen. He closed his eyes tight and indulged, finally allowing himself to push the way he liked best. “ _Fuck_ , you’re so beautiful,” he groaned, and pressed his face into his shoulder. “Oh, oh _fuck,_ I can’t hold out- I can’t-” Then the first wave of pleasure hit like a tsunami, and he lost the ability to speak. Aziraphale gripped the back of his head and pulled his face towards him to kiss his lips. Crowley came hard inside him, with his angel’s tongue in his mouth and hand fisted in his hair, and the world seemed to go white. 

He slowly pried his eyes open, chest heaving. Sweat dotted his forehead and trickled down the back of his neck; his shirt was damp with it. Aziraphale was trembling and heavy in his arms, hand still clutching at his hair for dear life. His own legs abruptly went weak, and they both slumped down sideways to sit on the ground before they fell. He groaned - his knees throbbed as if they had been kicked. By unspoken agreement they gingerly edged over to lean against the wall together, side by side, his arm draped around the blue-clad shoulders. Crowley glanced down and winced as he took stock of their appearances. Both of their shirts and waistcoats were in complete disarray, soaked with sweat and other things, but Aziraphale was in the worst condition by far. Most of his buttons had been torn off, _oops_ , leaving his clothes gaping open in odd places. The tartan bow tie was entirely free of its collar and dangling haphazardly around his neck, half undone, and his hair stuck up in several different directions. He looked rather like he had been on the losing end of a fight. 

"Well,” Crowley commented, then had to take a few more deep breaths before continuing. Satan, but he was exhausted; he felt like a wrung-out sponge. He blew out a huge sigh and took Aziraphale’s hand, twining their fingers together. “Is that enough celebration for you?” 

“Yes,” he replied. Even out of breath, the angel managed to sound impossibly smug. He let his head fall limply onto his shoulder. “Yes, I think London is quite properly bid farewell.” 

Crowley grinned and tugged him closer, kissing the side of his head. “Oh yeah. I’d say so.” He idly prodded at his own knee beneath his jeans, where he was pretty sure a bruise was forming. “You know, if you wanted to celebrate like _that_ you could have just said something.” 

“I don’t know what you mean, my dear.” Aziraphale was examining his torn waistcoat with an expression of mild dismay; he plucked away a dangling loose thread and looked up at him. It really should be illegal for an angel to smirk like that. _“_ _I_ think I was being perfectly clear.” 

Well, that didn’t even warrant a reply, did it? Crowley snorted and pulled up his jeans, refastening them, and leaned in for a quick kiss on the cheek. “Come on, angel, let’s get going home. We can still watch a movie there, at least.” He pushed himself up off the floor and put the rest of his clothes to rights with a few quick tugs. 

Aziraphale put a hand on the wall and confidently went to stand as well, and Crowley had to lunge forward to catch him as his legs immediately gave out. The angel sank slowly back to the floor and just sat there. “I may need a minute,” he said, voice faint. He leaned his head back against the wall and looked up at him accusingly. “Or a few minutes.” 

Crowley laughed and crouched down next to him, grinning like a fool. God, but the aggrieved look on that face was both hilarious and incredibly cute. “You really should have thought of this before deciding to seduce me.” 

“Well...I didn’t expect it to be _quite_ so effective.” Aziraphale tested his legs again, and Crowley watched carefully to be sure he didn’t topple. The limbs still seemed reluctant to bear his weight, and he gave up and sat there with legs stuck straight out. He frowned at them in exasperation. “I had _planned_ to wait until we got to the car, if you must know. This wouldn't have been a problem!” 

Crowley snorted, still grinning. “‘The best laid plans of mice and men’, and all that. Or angels, in this case…” He scooped up their jackets from the floor where they had been so carelessly dropped, then held out his other hand. “Here, I’ll help. You can lean on me and fix yourself up.” Aziraphale sighed resignedly and gripped his wrist; he hauled him to his feet and put an arm around his waist. A few quick flicks of their fingers sent the scattered buttons leaping from the floor back to their proper places; torn threads swiftly re-wove themselves and popped seams pulled snugly shut. Crowley held him steady as he quickly pulled up his trousers and buttoned and tucked everything back into something resembling order. He didn’t look quite his usual fastidious self, but nothing that would raise too many eyebrows. A final snap took care of the more visible stains on the clothing as well. 

Aziraphale gave his rumpled waistcoat a final smoothing, then nodded. “Alright. Ready.” He hooked one arm around his neck for balance and stuck the other hand in his trouser pocket, trying to look casual and failing miserably. 

Crowley poked his head out the door to make sure the coast was clear, then helped his shaky husband out of the room and down the hall. Aziraphale was still having trouble walking, and had to lean heavily against him as they made their slow way towards the lobby. Crowley couldn’t stop grinning; the reversal of their situations struck him as incredibly funny. And didn't that just serve him right? “Don’t worry,” he said, and kissed his cheek. “If anyone notices, I'll just tell them that you’re drunk.” 

“Oh good Lord. Don’t you _dare_.” The angel's arm tightened threateningly around his neck. The round cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, and he kept glancing furtively around to see if anyone was watching. No one was. 

“Heh. Or I can just carry you, if you're feeling too weak.” 

“I am a Principality, Guardian of the Earth and Angel of the Lord," Aziraphale said with stiff dignity, slumping a bit further down, “and I am going to smite you if you keep this up.” 

Crowley just cackled and kissed his neck. _What an excellent evening_ , he thought with immense satisfaction. As they passed through the lobby a new thought occurred to him, and he leaned close to his husband's ear again. “You know,” he murmured. “We haven’t exactly given the _bookshop_ a proper send-off.” 

Aziraphale looked at him and pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Hm. So we haven’t.” His mouth twitched, and he raised his eyebrows. “And? I’m not sure that I get your drift. I think I’m going to need you to be extremely clear and to the point once we get home.” 

“Well, I think I can manage that.” Crowley shrugged and lay a hand on the front door. “As you said, angel, I’m not exactly subtle.” 

He tightened his arm around the soft waist and dragged the Principality, Guardian of the Earth and Angel of the Lord through the double glass doors, out into the chilly London evening. Towards the Bentley and home. For one more night. 

* * *

Illistration by [Cliopadra](https://instagram.com/cliopadraart?igshid=10388ndb9nzh3)

  


**Author's Note:**

> Want more Ineffable Husbands PWP? This is my companion PWP account, so check out my other works here for more of the same.
> 
> Also: I now have an Instagram where I will be compiling all the art I commission for my fics! Also will have new fic announcements, etc. Will include some NSFW art, so if you are 18+ and want to follow, come find me on IG @IneffablePenguin


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